


Adagio

by spurioussymbols



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spurioussymbols/pseuds/spurioussymbols
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I gave you your distance, hoping a little time would let you collect your thoughts, but I'd prefer we talk about it instead of skirting around each other like forlorn teenagers." He sounded awfully assured that if he did have the patience for such a tedious duet, it would have played out exactly as he had planned. Maybe it would have, but Graham was very good at avoidance without this kind of direct pressure.</p><p>"You don't take rejection very well, do you?" The words came out of his mouth before he really thought to stop them.<br/>--<br/>Student!Hannibal and Teacher!Will</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adagio

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by color-division on Tumblr. I thought her AU idea would lead to some interesting dynamics, so here we are! The explicit rating will be earned in the next chapter. Warnings will be added as we go. I'd love to hear your thoughts and constructive criticism.

Will Graham wrapped his coat tighter around himself as he walked down the blisteringly cold street. The sudden blizzard had caught nearly everyone by surprise. Certainly it wasn't anything to boast about. They'd probably only get a couple of inches at most. The temperature was much lower than the forecast had been predicting, though, and that meant something to people more accustomed to warmer weather.

It was tempting just to retreat home and sleep off the cold with his space heater turned up and seven dogs piled on top of him. Unfortunately, he still had a class yet and couldn't leave. He made the decision to visit a coffee shop on campus. He could use the time to work on some lesson plans while he both warmed his belly and got his caffeine fix. The trip itself was unpleasant enough, though.

He continued on his way, swearing under his breath. It was mostly directed toward himself. Why he hadn't thought to bring gloves was beyond him. He could feel his fingers turning red, even from their snug place in his pockets. They were kept there, safe from the wind, until he had to open the large door. The metal knob bit at his skin, and he regretted not thinking to use his sleeve as a buffer.

A soft jingle of a bell rang out as the door swung open. Heat rushed toward him, and he welcomed it entirely, being quick to make sure the door was closed behind him. He inhaled the comfortable coffee smell and blew air back out his mouth and onto his poor fingers.

The shop was mostly empty, surprisingly. It seemed most students felt escaping the cold outweighed their need for caffeine. Likely a shop closer to the majority of the dorms would have a few more patrons. This one boasted only one other than himself. A young man sat in the back, surrounded comfortably by books and papers.

Said young man looked up as he had entered. Graham knew him as a student in one of his classes. He sighed heavily, still rather unsure of how he felt about this particular student. Certainly, he was a handful with an obnoxiously active interest in thorough discussion, but that kind of relationship can keep you on your toes. He didn't know whether to be annoyed by his particular brand of tenacity or impressed by it. The last time they spoke, it lasted nearly two and a half hours after class had ended. It was rare for a student to inspire that kind of interest from him.

"Good evening, Professor Graham," he greeted, rising quickly, though gracefully, from his perch.

"Good evening, Hannibal."

Graham walked toward the front counter, and Lecter did the same, not missing a beat. His legs moved in smooth strides and somehow matched his instructor's without going so far as mimicking.

"Please, allow me to buy your coffee. I know your only impression of me comes from how terribly rude I've been in your class. Your lectures involve so many peculiar observations, I forget myself."

"You don't need to do that." On some level, he knew Lecter was going to feel the need to make some form of apology. It had been clear from any conversation that the boy was a stickler for polite behavior. His actions also suggested that he felt very akin to the phrase "it is better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission." He didn't entirely trust that kind of attitude, which made him wary of having anything to do with him outside of a classroom setting.

"I feel I do. I took up so much of your time the other day. Your time is a service I appreciate and regret abusing. Please." He motioned for Graham to order something and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

Knowing that his student obviously wouldn't take no for an answer, he decided to go ahead with his cheap coffee of the day order. On top of it, Lecter ordered an amaretto flavored latte for himself. The coffee of the day was poured first and quickly scooped up into frigid fingers. Then, the barista moved to make the latte. She was swift, showing she wasn't new to her job and was in a hurry to get the transaction over quickly. Lecter paid, and sure enough the barista disappeared behind the tall counter as soon as her job obligations were fulfilled.

The young man turned toward his professor, who was cradling the coffee near his face, breathing in the steam while he waited for it to cool enough to drink. "You should sit with me," he announced, picking up his own cup. "At least until you warm up. I chose my table specifically because it is under a vent."

Graham eyed him suspiciously, trying to figure out what kind of angle this kid had. Few people in this world lacked an underlying agenda. This counted doubly so for students that tried to spend extra time with professors. He was particularly object to favoritism or special consideration for someone that didn't need it.

Lecter smiled at his expression. "I promise I have no ulterior motive," he said. "I would simply like some intelligent company for a little while. If you don't mind, of course."

That cool demeanor would certainly be agreeable to a profession in psychiatry some day. It should have irritated Graham, but it didn't. Despite himself, he found him at least interesting. So young and there was already such control over his every action. A portion of his mind, clearly the more logical side, told him to sit down as far away from Lecter as possible or simply leave.

But, he didn't listen to that side. Instead, he allowed himself to be led to the table in the back.

Any view from the windows was blocked. Given the nature of the counter, the barista couldn't see them just as much as they couldn't see her. This was both soothing and perturbing. Nothing inappropriate would happen, but it could, and that thought was not lost to Graham.

While avoiding eye contact as much as possible, he very carefully sipped his coffee in an attempt to avoid burning the inside of his mouth. When this failed, he made a small displeased noise, then popped the lid off. It would cool much faster without the heat being kept inside.

"I apologize," Lecter said suddenly. He seemed to be apologizing a lot today. "I was just working on something for Dr. Bloom's Psychology and Ethics class, so my mind is very much on the topic of informed consent to treatment at the moment. I wondered what your thoughts might be on the subject."

The sudden prompt took him by surprise. He instinctively shrugged, not really sure what Lecter wanted to hear specifically. There was a lot to say on the subject. Naturally the only thing he could think to say was "I'm for it."

"I wonder to what extent informed consent becomes a burden, though," he mused. "If someone knows the tricks, for example, it becomes that much more difficult to treat them."

"I know what you're getting at, but ultimately making the decision for a patient is ill-advised to say the least. Autonomy is important to people. Once it becomes known their autonomy has been breached, trust building isn't exactly on the table anymore."

"But what if it were to never become known? The breach of conduct is never discovered, and the patient is the better for it. Does it become Schrodinger's ethics?"

"I think this debate would be much better suited for a philosophy class than anything in Bloom's ethics class. You won't win any favors with her arguing that point, that's for sure."

"Oh, I was only speaking in the hypothetical." Lecter took the first sip of his latte after having waited the proper amount of time for it to cool a bit. "I did notice that about Dr. Bloom, though. She's very admirable in how she holds her morals."

"Couldn't find a better person to teach an ethics class," he agreed.

"You know, there is a rumor that something happened between the two of you in the past."

"Is there really?" His tight lipped response sparked a faintly amused smile from Lecter.

"Yes. Most suspect a history because a few have noticed that she avoids being in the same room as you. People always like a good mystery to gossip about."

"And, what do you suspect?" Graham wasn't entirely comfortable having people talk about his friendship with Dr. Bloom. Certainly, he was attracted to her. She was an attractive woman. Actually being involved with her seemed like something beyond possibility. He didn't like people talking about hypothetical love life, especially when it didn't exist.

"I suspect she's interested in you, though not in a romantic way." Lecter took a couple more sips of his coffee. The sweet richness was such a stark contrast to Graham's plain, bitter cup of joe. He seemed to be savoring it as much as he was savoring this conversation. "You're a curious man. I would be surprised if she wasn't."

Graham couldn't help laughing. He'd been described in many ways, but "a curious man" was something new. The kid was creative. He'd give him that.

Popping the lid back on to his coffee, he took a sip. It was cooled to a comfortable warm by now, but his mouth still stung from the previous burn. He liked bitter well enough. The brief idea crossed his mind that he wanted to know how Lecter's drink tasted. Not knowing what to do with that thought, he just sort of ignored it and hoped it wouldn't come back.

"Are you implying you're interested in me?"

"As I said, it would be surprising not to have interest in you." The boy's tone was so very matter-of-fact, as if he were simply discussing the weather.

"I won't foster your burgeoning 'professional curiosity' about me," he said with a slight grimace. "That sort of thing seems to cause a lot of discussion about me and a lot of wrong opinions. The last thing I need is for an undergrad to start diagnosing me, too."

"You misread me. I have no intentions to try to diagnose you with anything, Professor." There was a brief pause were Lecter looked like he was about to ask something, but didn't know if he should. Apparently he chose to go ahead with it. "Tell me, why do you prefer to go by 'Professor' or 'Mr.' Graham, instead of doctor? You do have a doctorate. You wouldn't be teaching at a university level if you didn't."

Graham raised an eyebrow. This conversation seemed to just keep barreling deeper and deeper into the realm of personal topics. "I don't think it fits. I got a degree in criminology. Sometimes I'm asked to lecture on criminal psychology as well. I'm not really a doctor, though. I don't do anything a doctor does."

"Don't you? You wrote the standard monograph for determining time of death based on insect activity. That's something researchers with an appropriate knowledge of human and animal biology and a doctorate do."

"I don't do much research anymore. That was all just expanded from my thesis." It seemed Lecter did his fair share of reading about his professors before entering a class. And then some.

"I assume working with the FBI would make it a bit difficult to do research. You don't seem very inclined to further that aspect of your career, though."

"I'm not. One book is enough for me." He really didn't want to talk about his role consulting for the FBI with one of his students, or really anyone. He hoped it would be dropped as soon as it was brought up.

It was, surprisingly.

They continued chatting for some time. He managed to switch the conversation from him to Lecter. It was strange to find that he was actually quite interested in that discussion. He knew the boy was from Eastern Europe from his accent, but he hadn't known he was from Lithuania or that he was here almost entirely on a scholarship. He was an artist and found a passion in cooking. He found out that he was actually planning to be a surgeon. Psychology was a second major taken mostly due to a strong interest.

The topic changed from Lecter to things discussed in class to recent events. At no point did Graham get a chance to get a head start on his lesson plans, as he had been intending. The only reason it seemed to end was because he needed to leave for the class he was instructing, and even then he only caught it by chance with a quick glance at the clock. There was a tugging feeling, pulling him back. He didn't want to leave. This had actually been...fun.

It didn't occur to him at the time that Lecter handing him his phone number to continue the conversation later was inappropriate. How it got to that point seemed entirely smooth and natural. By the rules of causation, it only made sense for him to finish explaining his point of view after his obligations were taken care of. Lecter made him promise he'd call later that night.

For a while there, he actually considered doing it. Some time with this thoughts and away from the gentle prodding reminded him of how that was a phenomenally bad idea.

\---

From there on out, there were fewer interruptions or after class discussions from Lecter. Graham wasn't sure if he was thankful for it or if he found it frustrating. He could feel the tension radiating from his general direction during class, but in the very few times Lecter stayed after to talk, the tension had dissipated. He was as cool and as charming as ever, though far more reserved than before, and his conversational topics were limited to the material they were covering.

This was the most reasonable solution, and yet, Graham was miserable for it. He was already caught in this foreign gravitational pull, and he hadn't realized it until the object he'd unwittingly begun orbiting starting moving away. The pull still dragged him forward as he tried desperately to stay behind.

They continued this ugly little dance for weeks. Lecter kept his distance, not petulantly so but enough that it was clear he was keeping his distance. Graham still didn't call. They stared at one another an awful lot during the little cracks and crevices of silence that naturally wormed their way into lectures. The rope was pulled so tautly that the snap wasn't just expected, it was inevitable.

It finally snapped on a particularly nasty day about a month later.

There was an odd heat wave for the season. It couldn't be considered warm, but it was enough of a rise that most of the snow melted. Everything was made soggy and cold. The forecast predicted precipitation. The sky didn't disappoint. Since the temperature was over freezing, what came down was a particularly miserable variety of rain. Graham liked rain for the most part. He liked it in the summer when the cool showers were a welcome respite from the pooling humidity. This was nothing like it, and it only served to make him tired and cold.

The day seemed to drag on forever. He couldn't get himself interested in his own lectures for the life of him, and his students certainly could feel it. They reflected such feelings, spending more time doodling in their notebooks and whispering to one another. At least they had the courtesy not to be disruptive. While no one including himself particularly cared what was being discussed, some semblance of a class structure should be in place, even if it was a farce.

With his obligations met and emails responded to (he rarely responded to them when he got home), he was ready to leave and make the trip back to his little house in the country. The long drive was worth the distance. He could relax away from civilization and prying eyes. Cities were never truly meant for him with the loud rushing of traffic and constant supply of interaction of some nature. He preferred the lonely hollow of open space and the sound of wind rushing through leaves of grass.

He made it all the way to his car without interruption. His keys were in the ignition, all ready to be twisted. The engine would rumble, low and reluctant. A blast of cold air would hit him, as he had forgotten to shut off the heat before getting out that morning. It would take a while for it to warm up again. His car was third-hand and didn't take kindly to colder days.

His escape was just seconds away when his phone rang.

It was the same alarming bell of an old telephone. Personalized ring tones seemed like cheap tricks and a waste of time. The number was unfamiliar to him. He answered with no small amount of bristling. Couldn't this wait? It was probably a wrong number...

"Hello?" he answered, sounding as uninterested as he felt.

"Hello," came a dexterous and altogether familiar voice from the other end. "Is this a bad time, Professor Graham?"

Oh, hell.

He sat up a little straight, suddenly feeling much more alert. "Lecter? How did you get my number?"

"Never mind that. I have a favor to ask of you."

"No, not 'never mind,'" he insisted firmly. On some level, though, he was kind of impressed. It couldn't have been easy. "Who gave it to you?"

"I'll tell you if you do me this favor. It's a small thing, I promise, but it is important to me."

Graham thought it over. He knew it would be setting a very unfortunate precedent, but he wanted to know. Lecter was a clever kid, and he wanted to know how he got this information and, in complete honesty, what scheme he was hatching up. Certainly, the favor couldn't be anything truly small. It would be deceptively simple but flow into something larger. That would be in tune with the propensity he'd previously displayed.

He chewed on his lip, knowing he shouldn't be doing this but deciding to go with it anyway.

"All right. What do you want?"

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would pick me up from the campus library. My roommate was supposed to be here a half hour ago, and I'm not particularly inclined to wait for a bus in this rain."

He held in a laugh. The kid wanted a ride. All this for a ride. His lack of transparency was shockingly transparent. The fact that he thought Graham wouldn't find it suspicious was amazing. Or, perhaps, that was what he was counting on. Curiosity could be a powerful motivator.

"I suppose I could do that. You'll tell me how you got my number then?"

"Of course."

"All right. I'll be there in five."

He hung up and set his phone in a cup holder. It was a possibility that he would need it again depending on whether or not Lecter knew what his car looked like. He wasn't about to get out and walk him back to the car in plain sight. He didn't know which would give the kid more satisfaction—being seen with him outside of the class room or having him wait in the car as if they were sneaking around. Both probably carried at least a small form of entertainment. This thought made him feel self-conscious, and he began grinding his teeth in response to it.

It didn't surprise him at all when he pulled into the parking lot and Lecter walked out immediately, looking just as pleased as punch. He was like a sleek tom cat, strutting with lean, fluid motion across his claimed territory. Maybe it was his claimed territory. Everything he did seemed to have an essence of ownership and control, and he looked as though he could fight off any alley cats that threatened his sovereignty. It made him wonder what Lecter viewed him as in this little metaphor.

The passenger door opened and his unexpected guest slid into the seat, all smiles and courtesy with his greeting. He acted as though they were old friends, as if they knew one another well. For his part, Graham tried not to feel at ease. He tried put himself in the mindset to be his usually prickly self, but he didn't feel like being on the offense. Maybe it was the weather making him feel so out of sorts. That was a better explanation than admitting one of his students had such an effect on him.

"I hope I'm not troubling you too much," Lecter said, though clearly this was a formality, and he didn't particularly care. If it were too much of an inconvenience, Graham probably wouldn't have come. Probably.

"You know, the fact that you both got my number without me knowing and knew exactly what my car looks like could actually be considered kind of creepy."

"Oh, could it?" The amusement was clear as day on his face. "I didn't know."

Graham gave a little snort of a laugh. "Yeah, shockingly. It can."

"Well, I will put that information in my back pocket for future use, should the occasion arise."

"Which way am I going?" He put the car in drive and waited for instruction.

"Take a left out of the parking lot." Lecter put his seat belt on like a reasonable human being. The direction was followed. There was a brief period where there was a rapid succession of directions before they reached a street that Graham was informed they would be following for a little while.

"So how did you do it?" he asked, when the question weighed on him for what he felt was long enough.

"How did I do what?"

"How did you get my number? I'm curious."

Lecter paused for a moment. A sly smile graced his lips; Graham only saw it out of the corner of his eye when he glanced over. He was enjoying the moment, soaking up the sensation of getting away with something few others would have been resourceful enough to accomplish. This wasn't as easy as finding the number of a peer, or, hell, even an instructor with a more sociable nature. When he felt he'd sufficiently held the suspense long enough (admittedly getting far too much joy at watching Graham squirm), he answered.

"I figured since you and Dr. Bloom know one another well enough for lingering stares, she would at least have your number."

"Yeah, but you didn't get it out of her. Gun to the head, she still probably wouldn't give it out without my permission."

"No, she didn't, but I knew she would have it. I hoped she would keep a contact book. She seems the type to keep a contact book, don't you think?"

He stared at Lecter incredulously for a brief couple of seconds before tearing his eyes back to the road. "Please tell me you didn't sneak into her office."

"No. Nothing of the sort. That's a little too crass, in my opinion."

"Then where are you going with this?"

"My, my. You do lack patience, Professor. I was getting to that before you interrupted."

"Sorry," he mumbled, not entirely sure why he felt embarrassed. This kid was honestly too good at getting a reaction out of him. The whole situation was completely ridiculous. He should have been more in control of it. He was very nearly twice his age. He could have easily been the father of someone in his age group had he been far less careful in the fumbling years of first discovering sexuality. That thought didn't sit well with him, and he suddenly became aware of exactly how stupid he was just by letting this continue.

"The intern working as her secretary is awfully gullible. I came in with a sob story about how it was misplaced desperately needed to avoid my grade point average dropping. Your reputation of not checking your email worked in my favor. No need to flirt or put unnecessary effort. She slipped her little fingers into Dr. Bloom's desk and pulled out the contact book. You really ought to check it more, you know—your email, that is."

Graham sighed heavily, not entirely taken aback but still finding himself exasperated. "That poor girl. You could get her fired, you know. It'll be hard to get another internship after that kind of violation, and Bloom isn't a mentor you want to lose."

"It was a very sad lapse in judgment on her part. She was too eager to help. If there are consequences, you know very well that it was her decision to do what she did."

"She shouldn't suffer consequences for one little lapse in judgment, especially when you were there with the intention to manipulate her."

"Do you feel like this is a lapse in judgment on your part?"

There was a small victory in Graham's silence, and Lecter was sure to savor that as well. Sudden increased blood flow formed a light blush that tinted the man's cheeks, and he was struck with the idea of tasting one. He was quite certain it would be as sweet and lush as a ripe peach. Despite how nice it would be to have that taste on his tongue, the action likely wouldn't be well received. So, he settled on simply memorizing how the tint looked against his natural undertones.

"More like a series of unfortunate and terrible decisions on my part," he mumbled. The silence allowed him to concentrate more on where he was, rather than just the road ahead. They had gone past the limits of campus. Lecter wasn't expecting a ride back to his dorm at all, but a part of him already knew that.

Briefly, he wondered how much of the story was real. The delivery, very apparently, was just to watch him squirm but also to distract him just enough to get this far without stopping. Stopping at the beginning, before momentum was built, was easy enough. Once the slipping started, it wasn't so easy to go back again. Graham had slipped right on his ass and was riding all the way down.

He was supposed to be the adult in this situation. Technically they were both adults, but that felt like a terribly cheap excuse.

"Where are we going, exactly?"

"Oh, not much further now, and we'll be surrounded by fields. You can park on the side of the road there without attracting attention. I thought it would be a good idea if we had the chance to talk."

"Talk about what?" God, he should really be turning around. Why the fuck wasn't he turning around?

"Well, I suppose why you didn't call me would be an excellent start." His voice lacked the bite his words implied. "There's also the detail where you've been avoiding me. I gave you your distance, hoping a little time would let you collect your thoughts, but I'd prefer we talk about it instead of skirting around each other like forlorn teenagers." He sounded awfully assured that if he did have the patience for such a tedious duet, it would have played out exactly as he had planned. Maybe it would have, but Graham was very good at avoidance without this kind of direct pressure.

"You don't take rejection very well, do you?" The words came out of his mouth before he really thought to stop them. Oh, that would certainly go over well, wouldn't it?

"Is this a rejection?"

There was a bit of a pause, and thankfully they were driving into the area surrounded by fields because this wasn't the kind of discussion to have while driving. Hell, this wasn't the kind of discussion to have period, but they were having it all the same. He continued driving for an added sense of security, though. The further from civilization, the better.

After some distance, he turned onto another road before parking. He kept the car on. The privacy fogged up windows would provide would be comforting, but it would take too long for anything to be visible enough to drive again. This would be awfully counterintuitive if the conversation went badly, and it very well could. What an absurd little bomb they'd created between the two of them.

He sucked on his teeth and stared out the window at the rain. The heat in cars was always overbearing and uncomfortable, but if he turned it down, he'd be seeing his own breath. The urge to retreat came too little too late. As much as he wanted to take Lecter back and go home, it would be utterly pointless now.

"I can't say for sure," he finally answered in complete honesty. It probably would have been better to lie, but that ship had sailed. Was it more ridiculous to keep going with the situation or to come all the way out to a field in the middle of nowhere just to lie? It was hard to tell, but the latter felt like a waste of both their time, so honesty it was.

"You feel like it should be, but you don't want it to be."

"Don't I?"

"If you did, this would have gone a lot differently." Lecter's voice relaxed. He wasn't teasing anymore. He stared at Graham, who hadn't quite found the courage to look back. "And, you wouldn't spend so much time looking at me during lectures. You must become less transparent, or soon there will be rumors about us."

Graham smiled and hummed slightly in amusement. He finally turned his head toward the student, the boy—not a boy, but still very much a boy. This was utterly fucked, but he was somehow content with it. That certainly didn't give a good reflection on his morals, but maybe those were fucked, too.

"I actually really like my job and my reputation intact," he said, both as a response and a general statement about the situation.

"That doesn't have to be a problem if discretion is applied."

"Back to your Schrodinger's ethics theory, huh?" He scratched his cheek and tried not to revert back to staring out the window. "The problem with that is the process of observing creates an outcome. What kind of outcome will our observations dictate?"

"Quite possibly an enjoyable experience."

"Or a terrible one." All of the worst possible scenarios danced around his head like prophetic visions of a crime he hasn't committed yet. He had to remind himself he was no Cassandra, and this was no Greek tragedy. Real life wasn't a Greek tragedy, though it may sometimes feel like one. "I keep hearing Bloom's voice in my head outlining all of the ethical faults in any of this."

"She seems to be serving as your moral compass, but she isn't here. You can choose whatever serves you and your interests, whatever they might be," Lecter said in a gentle reminder. It was a simple statement, but it seemed to carry a disproportionate amount of weight to it. His knuckles brushed against the side of Graham's hand. They were freezing, and it inspired the desire to wrap them up and pull further away simultaneously. The result was something in between: no movement at all. He took this as an invitation to continue contact because he liked that interpretation best.

He dragged the back of his chilled fingers over Graham's knuckles. His eyes flicked from the hand to blue eyes that didn't follow the lead and stayed glued on where their hands touched. His thumb ran gentle strokes over the rough, dry skin. Little scars littered the surface like bits of mica. Graham's hand was warm. It radiated warmth.

"You need to get some gloves," Graham grumbled, entrapping Lecter's hand underneath his own.

Lecter smiled lightly, proud of his little victory. Very slowly, he was prying the man out of his shell. "I suppose I do."

With a quick turn of wrist, Lecter was able to push his fingers through the spaces between Graham's, successfully intertwining them. While not entirely warming up itself, his hand was rapidly stealing the warmth from the one above it. The heat seemed to be falling into some void between because it was not transferring in any observable way other than the fact that it was leaving one hand. Soon both of their hands would cold and the gesture would be for naught.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

"I want to know you," he answered, without skipping a beat. "Be known by you. You're alone, and so am I. I'm curious how well our jagged edges might fit together, and I enjoy talking to you."

His romantic notions and easy earnestness betrayed his youth. If the years didn't beat them out of him, they would teach him to be more guarded with thoughts. Someone such as him, that was prone to manipulation, might even grow to make a game out of it in attempts to distance himself from the possibility of rejection. Especially if they were sensitive to it, and he was.

"I don't find you that interesting," was Graham's desperate reply.

"You're lying."

"I am," he breathed.

\---

Hannibal Lecter meandered into Graham's office, looking every bit like he just so happened to be in the area, rather than having purposely chosen a time when it'd be less likely for their conversation to be interrupted or overheard. Of course, this was despite the fact that he had done just that. Graham was learning exactly how good he was at calculating his timing and making it look like an accident. Once or twice was a coincidence, but three or four set a pattern. At least discretion wasn't something he had to worry about too much.

The door was clicked shut behind him before he strode up to the desk with feline grace. Graham never was much of a cat person. A particularly traumatic event when he was four involving involving an especially ornery one left him forever wary of their claws. He couldn't help but see the comparisons here, though, and strangely appreciate them.

"Are you busy?" Lecter asked politely.

"Grading papers," he sighed, rubbing an eye underneath his glasses and causing them to rise off the bridge of his nose only to settle back down, slightly lower. "I'd welcome a bit of distraction. Or a stiff drink. Some of these are just sad."

"I'd imagine teaching undergraduate classes can be quite the test of patience."

"It is."

"Why do you then?"

He stopped for a moment to consider this. Why did he? Why did anyone do anything? The biggest reason was probably because it was a teaching job close by that would allow him to work with the FBI but get some respite from the strain it always caused. They could justify pulling him out of a classroom for their purposes if he also taught in the same building. He preferred being a teacher holding a temporary badge with obligations to his classroom he often couldn't ignore. It gave him room to breathe without inhaling blood and screams at every turn.

"I'm picking up a graduate class as well. It just so happened that the undergraduate one was the only offer being advertised when I was looking."

"The economy isn't very allowing for young teachers, I assume."

"It's more allowing when you look outside of a certain area, but I didn't like the idea of moving."

"That makes sense."

Lecter moved a chair next to the desk, so he could sit while the spoke. It made him feel less like he was being reprimanded for something. Standing for an extended period of time in front of a desk always carried that kind of connotation for him. This felt far more like they were speaking as equals.

"How was your day?" Graham asked, capping his pen. He papercliped the pile of paper's he'd finished grading and the pile he hadn't gotten to yet and slipped them into a folder. Honestly, he wanted to burn the whole lot. It seemed no more than a few people cared to read the instructions and not a one of them understood how to cite properly. There wasn't much of an excuse for that kind of sloppiness with the invention of citation generators.

"Spectacularly unexciting."

"Your idea of unexciting or mine? I know we have different definitions."

"Mine, probably." Lecter had the problem bright people often ran into—the everyday aspects of life were too boring. He wasn't cut out for the humdrum of a simple life. Yet, that was all Graham wanted but never seemed to be able to grasp entirely.

Graham hummed in understanding and tapped two of his fingers on his desk in succession. He felt awkward and uncomfortable with people in a general sense. With the something that they had started hanging overhead, his tongue seemed twice as cemented in a stilled position, and today he was feeling more antsy than usual.

"What did you do today?" Lecter asked, knowing that he only had one class that wasn't for another hour or two.

"Oh, I think my day was exciting by your standards," he teased slightly. Maybe it was meant to be biting and sarcastic. He didn't really know. "I was at a crime scene today."

"The man by the river they were talking about on the radio?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Seeing those things can't be easy for you." It was stating the obvious, but it invited further conversation, rather than changing the subject. Graham didn't know whether or not he was thankful for this.

"You get used to it after a while," he said gruffly, hoping very much that the statement wasn't a pitiful note of sympathy. That was the last thing he wanted right now.

"They didn't give out many details, but it sounded awfully brutal. Do you have an suspicions on who might have done it?"

"There's not much to go off of at the moment. Right now they're interviewing family and friends. There's a possibility that someone close to him did it, but this is the second one in the area found with organs missing—damn it. I didn't tell you that," he muttered, looking very cross with himself. He knew better than to give out details of an investigation, but he had precious few to confide in, and none of them were so easy to bounce ideas off of and get something interesting back.

"Of course not. I apologize for asking."

"No, it's...fine. It's fine."

"Was there something else on your mind?"

Graham rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve his tension a bit. Well, it seemed like he was slipping back into the awkward. He wet his lips before speaking. "This is a really terrible segue." He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a soft lump wrapped in brown wrapping paper. With some hesitation, he handed it to Lecter, who took it with absolutely none. "But, I bought this for you."

"Christmas has come late?" Lecter asked, once again taking enjoyment in the other's squirming. These sentimental actions came easily enough, but the actual process of being in them made the man feel inadequate. It was cute in a kind of sad way, and he liked getting the opportunity to see those cheeks color in a different lighting.

"A little more spontaneous than that. I almost thought I shouldn't, but..." He let the sentence trail off.

Lecter delicately opened the wrapping to reveal a pair of black leather gloves. They were stylish on the outside, looking very sleek and pretty. On the inside, they were lined with fur, carefully hidden from sight but still a very warm insulator from the cold. They looked new based on condition but were probably antique. He smiled very genuinely. They were lovely.

"I do have gloves, you know."

"Well, maybe you'll remember to wear these."

"Perhaps."

\---

A woman in her early thirties stood perched in a little nook in front of a doorway. Only about a third of her could be seen, but her bright red curls would be a dead give away against the taupe walls of the hallway. She had a rather expensive camera in her hands, with her fingers eager to snap, and she was prepared to run at any given moment.

She knew if she were to bide her time, she would catch glimpses of the target of her near stalking. She'd been at the crime scene earlier that day and had seen him. He was odd, and therefore a point of interest. The more she heard, the more interested she was. She wanted the truth, but she also wanted a sensationalized, heightened reality to write about. The best stories were fundamentally true but told through the right lens with the right wording to truly hold the audience's attention. She could do that.

Earlier, she wondered where she had heard the name Will Graham before, as it sounded so incredibly familiar. A simple Google search helped jog her memory. A good five years or so back, not long before she had started up her website, Graham had been on the Minnesota Shrike case. After shooting the Shrike, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, ten times in the chest, he wound up in a psychiatric facility for about a month. They said he made no progress until the Hobbs girl came to see him. They said he got so close to the killer mentally that he actually convinced himself he had killed her for a while. It was strange she'd forget such a juicy story.

Now it seemed Graham was back working with the FBI. She didn't know what she'd find by following him around a bit. She planned on asking around to see if any of his coworkers wanted to comment. If he made any enemies, she could use that to her advantage. This wouldn't happen until he was out of the building, though. She didn't want to make the mistake of running into him too quickly.

The door to his office finally opened, and she postured appropriately to start snapping photos at rapid fire pace. The shutter click was quiet enough that at her distance, it couldn't be heard down the hall. It helped that Graham was with someone, talking to someone in hushed tones. That seemed odd given how much of a loner he'd appeared to be, but perhaps he behaved differently at different work places.

Whomever he was with was slightly taller than he was, so it wasn't until he turned slightly that she realized that it must have been a student at the university. He had a young face, looking to be 23 at the oldest, 19 at the youngest. Tall, blond, and stylish. Their fingers brushed in passing, looking somewhere between incidental and planned. It was only a moment that she caught them before they disappeared around a corner, but even without looking at the pictures she could tell there was something going on between them. Her intuition on these things was rarely wrong.

She was about to get a much better story than she thought. She needed to find out who that kid was.

\---

It was 8:30 AM when Graham got the first text.

"I'd like to cook for you."

It was his day off, and so it allowed him the time to get up late. As such, he was only just now sitting at his table, nursing a cup of coffee between his chilled fingers. His toes curled excess fabric from the ends of pajama pants down so they'd cover the balls of his feet. He'd been too tired recently to match socks and too lazy to look for a pair at the moment, but the floorboards were uncomfortably cold beneath him. He had central heating, but the house was old. As much as he tried to keep the heat in, it was a losing battle. Being naturally economical, he was careful about how much heat he used regardless of how chilly it might be.

He stared at the text as he continued to sip his coffee, unsure of how to respond. They hadn't spent much time with one another outside of lulls in his office hours. Allowing him to come into his home and cook for him was roughly equivalent to allowing whatever-this-was to grow—not only complacent but actively assisting. That was quite the step to make, and his conscious was still wailing about how desperately he needed to put a stop to this.

Eventually, he decided to put off the decision for when he didn't still have sleep clinging to his eyes. One shouldn't make decisions with the first coffee of the day. That was what his father always said, "Ask me after I finish another coffee. Can't make a decision with the first cup." It was a euphemism for stalling then just as much as it was now.

The second text came three hours later.

"I need to borrow your kitchen, of course. I think we should have dinner."

At the time it was received, Graham was out with his dogs. He walked through the fields with them jumping around his heels, running ahead, running back, and playing with one another in utter obliviousness to their owner's conflicted feelings. The internal debate was able to unwind a little with the help of tall grasses brushing lightly around him.

Of course, getting back to the house undid any of that tenuous sense of calm. He stared at his phone for a few minutes. A natural procrastinator, Graham already had ideas for about three other things he could start doing instead of typing out a reply. Starting a load of laundry and matching socks sounded like a better idea. Cleaning the floors, after that. By the time these chores were done, he had another text.

"I think something with salmon would be a good idea with a Sauvignon Blanc."

Another text came as he was reading.

"Do you like wine?"

"Well enough" he texted back without thinking first. Damn. Engaging in conversation meant that he couldn't put off the decision any further, and he just more or less implied that he was okay with Lecter coming over. Just as expected, he got a response quickly.

"Do you like fish?"

"I'd hope so. I go fishing a lot."

"Do you have any salmon?"

"No"

"Too bad. I would have liked the opportunity to cook something you caught."

He very nearly responded with "maybe someday," but that had far more implication behind it than he was actually comfortable with. Instead he gave a much more serious reply of "I still haven't said yes."

It took a couple minutes for the next text to come, and he found himself wondering what Lecter was doing at that moment. Where was he? He could clearly imagine him sitting comfortably on one of those sad little dormitory beds. He wouldn't be sprawled—he was far too elegant for that. The image of him sitting cross-legged was hilarious. No, he'd have his legs out in front of him, one crossed over the other. Maybe he was reading while texting. He could also be at the library, sitting with a look that was all too natural for the place, as though he owned everything around him.

"You haven't said no either."

"Guess that's true"

"Do you have rice? Spices?"

"I have basic cooking stuff."

He stared at his phone for a while before realizing that he wasn't going to get a reply within the next couple of minutes. His answer was more slowly eked out of him than firmly set. This seemed to be a common occurrence with the two of them. At least with that out of the way he could try to let go of the tension that had build up with the constant "should I, shouldn't I?" Of course, his conscience wouldn't let up, but the idea was nice, as deluded as it was.

While waiting, he went back to cleaning up a bit. The possibility of unexpectedly having a guest over brought up a whole new set of anxieties. It was ridiculous, of course. College students are near constantly exposed to some of the worst living spaces with the worst cleaning practices, and he was generally quite clean. Certainly not everything had the perfect place, but he was fairly well organized.

A few hours later brought another text.

"What is your address?"

Ignoring that little voice telling him to stop before it was too late, he sent the address to his little home in Wolf Trap. It wasn't abnormal for people to live a good distance away from their jobs, particularly people that taught, so he assumed the distance wouldn't be too much of a surprise. No one, actually, was terribly surprised when they found out he lived in the middle of fields, away from any work related obligations.

It occurred to him that maybe he should warn Lecter about his small army of dogs before hand, but he decided instead to let that bridge be crossed when they came to it. He doubted the painfully astute Hannibal Lecter would miss the fact that he was near always covered in dog hair. The only mystery was as to how many dogs there were. Might as well let something stay a surprise.

He wasn't exactly sure how Lecter was getting to his place. He assumed a cab was probably involved. It was difficult to imagine someone as thorough as him getting a ride from someone; that would most definitely raise some red flags. Either way, there was still quite a bit of time to spare until his arrival. The temptation to take a shot of liquid courage presented itself, but he thought that would be tasteless and inconsiderate. He decided to feed the dogs an early supper and take them out for some play time. That always helped relax him.

\---

Lecter did take a cab. He had it stop at the end of long driveway and got out there. The tip he gave the driver was the kind of tip that people gave when they wanted the trip to be forgotten and far too much for a college student to be carrying around. Suspicious as it was, a good tip was a good tip, and the driver felt no need to push his luck by asking any questions. All the better for him. That sort of behavior would have been considered rude.

He made is way up the driveway, holding a couple grocery bags. The atmosphere around the little house suited Graham perfectly. He'd been highly tempted to look it up on Google Maps but thought it would be much nicer to take it in once he arrived. In his view, moments like these should be relished as they happened, for they only last a short time and would never return. Why not make a moment a real experience when one could?

When he made it to the porch, he could hear dogs barking wildly. It was convenient enough because it meant he didn't have to knock. The dogs had alerted Graham to his presence and he was already opening the door. Seeing him in his casual wear was fairly entertaining because it was exactly how he imagined. It wasn't much different than his formal wear because his formal wear wasn't all that formal. He had a habit of wearing plaid shirts under a jacket and tie. His outfit was a little more laid back than that, but not so much that he looked like a slob. There was a bit of humble charm to it.

Seven dogs sniffing around his legs interrupted his thoughts. It seemed Graham not only had a couple dogs, he had a whole pack with varying sizes and characteristics. "You seem to be a collector," he noted, more entertained with the observation than annoyed by the fur getting on him.

"A collector of strays, I guess." Graham moved out of the way to open the doorway but stayed close enough that he could hold the screen door open. Lecter took the opportunity to brush his arm against the man's chest as he walked through. They hadn't made much contact since that time in the car. It wasn't as if they could hold hands down the hallway. The lack of casual touch made little brushes more electrifying and meaningful.

Graham watched him walk further into the living room, holding the door open so that the dogs could file back in. Having already made acquaintances with Lecter, the majority of them went back to sitting comfortably in various spots on the floor. A couple continued to follow him, partially because they seemed to want to know what was in the bags he was carrying.

"You sleep in the living room?" he asked upon noticing the bed.

"Huh?" Graham blinked, looking as though he had just broken out of a trance. "Oh. Yeah, I do."

"Why?"

"Convenience."

"Yours or the dogs'?"

"A little bit of both, I think."

Lecter nodded and left the topic alone. Graham didn't say that having all the space of an entire house to sprawl out in made him acutely uncomfortable or that the upstairs was largely unused. He probably wouldn't go up there at all if it weren't for the fact that the only full bath was located on the second floor.

There was a guest bedroom all made up that he kept telling himself would be his bedroom eventually, when he got used to the creaking and groaning of the house settling. There was another room he used for nothing but storage, but he didn't have much to store. It was mostly his father's old things—the kind of old things left behind that they send to the next of kin. All it was doing was collecting dust. He thought about donating it, but every time he tried to sort through the bunch, well... He hadn't been in there in months. The door stayed closed and the old things kept collecting dust.

Lecter wasted little time before getting acquainted with Graham's kitchen. He set the bags down on the counter and started going through each and every cabinet, as well as the fridge. The kitchen seemed to be his natural habitat, though this was probably a pale comparison to the type he enjoyed. Graham became aware that it was rather like looking at a tiger through the slots of a cage at the local zoo. The environment wasn't quite right, but that hardly made the animal look any less impressive.

"I can tell you where things are, you know."

"Oh, this is fine," Lecter said. "It's like opening a present. Do allow me to be surprised."

"You're awfully easy to please."

"I've been away from a proper kitchen for too long."

Graham leaned against the doorway and watched the prodigal child do his work.

\---

Prodigal child, he was. The meal was delicious. The fish was perfectly cooked. Everything went together smoothly. Graham mumbled a phrase or two of praise. He wasn't about to feed into Lecter's ego—it was big enough already—but he was sure to give credit where credit was due. He didn't think he ever had such a good meal. While he wasn't a particularly bad cook, he wasn't a particularly good one either, and his father didn't have the skills or the time to go much further than reading the back of a box of mac 'n cheese.

The scenario would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that Graham hated dinner dates. He couldn't stand them simply for the fact that eating led to lulls in the conversation that would dip a little too far into what he felt was entirely awkward. As an extension of that feeling of awkwardness, eye contact was made ten times more difficult. It turned out that people didn't respond well to a lack of eye contact on dates.

Strangely, Lecter didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the clear staring at the plate or the wall or anywhere that wasn't him. He took it all in a stride and kept conversation going when he should and seemed entirely comfortable with everything when he shouldn't. In a gracious gesture of saving face, he brought no attention whatsoever to the lack of eye contact. Eventually Graham lost himself and looking straight at him became less of a feat. With a little more time he was even able to find himself feeling quite comfortable.

"Tell me, have you had many people over?" he asked rather suddenly when they were near finished.

"No, I haven't," Graham admitted from behind his near empty glass of wine. It was only the second of the evening. He wasn't quite tipsy, but he could almost feel it coming on like a pleasant buzzing floating around the back of his head. It made him feel warm. Either that, or it was the fact that his cheeks were coloring lightly. He took a drink. "I'm not overly sociable."

"I hadn't noticed." The sarcasm was light and gentle, not meant to be biting or hurtful in any way. "Have you dated many people?"

"Over the years I've had a few girlfriends, more so when I was younger."

"Any boyfriends?"

"No," he said, his cheeks warming again. "And you?"

"Neither, officially speaking."

"Not officially?"

"A few of either. Some of neither." Lecter took a sip of his own wine before explaining, "I'm not overly concerned with the gender of my partners so much as whether or not we click in the way that the desired result demands."

"What is the desired result here?"

"What do you want it to be?"

"I'm not entirely sure." He took another bite of his food, though he wasn't feeling all that peckish anymore. Honest conversations about past and current relationships weren't exactly his forte and therefore did little to stimulate an appetite. "What are you looking for out of...whatever this is, now that it seems our jagged edges piece together fairly well?"

"Perhaps this conversation is better suited for after we've cleaned up." It was a sensible reply, but it felt like a dodge. Perhaps that flippant comment about him taking rejection poorly had hit something soft and visceral. He suddenly felt bad for making it.

It didn't take long for either of them to decide they were finished eating. Some of the tension incurred from that exchanged was eased from a little tiff over who would be the one to wash the dishes. Lecter thought since the whole thing was his idea, he should be the one to clean.

Graham didn't like sitting around and watching him do everything. It made him feel useless and unwanted, like he was a child again, watching his father fumble around the fine points of parenthood with no way to ease the burden quite yet. It was an odd sensation, to feel as though he were the younger one in this relationship. While he didn't say that aloud, he did manage to get his guest to comply with his preferences. After all, one could only argue a task so far until the action itself became rude.

After dishes were cleaned, they moved back into the living room, sporting the remainder of the wine between them. It was almost gone so they might as well finish it off. The soft light from the lamps gave an almost romantic feel to the room. The wine helped. Graham thought that perhaps next time he should think to use the fireplace; it would add to the cozy atmosphere. If there was a next time, that was. There really shouldn't be.

"Do I get an answer now?" Graham asked with something of a wry smile. He leaned back against a wall, feeling more comfortable there than he would be sitting in one of his chairs. Lecter followed his lead and stayed standing. He was at a dubious distance that managed to be both in his personal space and just outside of it. It was obnoxious but not quite irritatingly so.

"You are terribly, terribly impatient," he teased.

"And, you." A pause for emphasis. "Are stalling."

"I suppose I am." He took a shy, or perhaps simply coy, sip of his wine. Everything he did appeared too artful to be read plainly. There was a composition to his actions, the music of this seduction. Each moment was carefully plucked for the desired sound. "Am I to admit everything? Every curious desire that's popped into my head since we've met?"

"There's that word again."

"Curious desires for a curious man."

"Hm," Graham hummed with closed eyes. When they opened again, he stepped forward, narrowing the space between them slightly. He didn't have to reach out so much when he cupped Lecter's cheek in his hand. It was cool to the the touch. Lecter was always cool to the touch, though that was likely do to the fact that Graham ran warm.

Lecter smiled and turned his head to kiss his palm lovingly. "I've been enjoying getting to know you, and selfishly, I want to know every aspect of you."

Graham's smile morphed into something that looked like it was barely containing a laugh behind his teeth. He move his hand and, by extension, Lecter's head so that he could stroke his cheek with tenderness. "A more biblical 'know,' huh?"

Lecter's expression mirrored his own. "Something like that, I suppose."

To his genuine surprise, Graham leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips. It was wet and hot and lingered for a few seconds too short. Left behind was a soft tingling sensation on his lips, bits of electricity that made him want nothing more than to scramble to get that pressure back. The residual smile was something a little less composed. He licked his lips, tasting the slightly sour wine. It was a little different coming from Graham's lips rather than the glass' rim. "Well," he said. "That certainly was something. More forward than I would expect from you, Professor Graham."

With his glass place on the edge of a shelf, Graham placed his hands on Lecter's hips, firmly but not with the intent or force to be confining. "Keep calling me that, and I'll suddenly remember my ethics."

"I hope you're implying you'd prefer me to call you Will. I'm afraid I'm not very fond of pet names."

"Will's just fine."

"It's such an odd situation. I'm perfectly legal in age, but my place enrollment suddenly makes this taboo,” he observed with the appropriate amount of frustration in his tone. “Well then, Will. Do I have your permission to kiss you back?"

Graham sighed and pulled Lecter a little closer by his belt loops. His student—young but no longer a boy—placed his wine glass next to his before holding his face between his hands. This was the first instance since the eight grade he ever had to lean up slightly for a kiss. While he wasn't particularly tall, most of the women he had ever dated fell either at or bellow his height.

"You'll be the death of me," he mumbled.

Lecter answered by pressing their lips together in something more than the teasing peck of a thing Graham had gifted him with.

 

 


End file.
